


thank god for tracheal inflammation, right?

by sulfuric



Series: totl verse [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Young Love, thomas has asthma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>two years before newt and thomas were, well, newt and thomas, they were still newt and thomas. they just didn't know it yet.<br/>asthma does wonders for young love.</p><p>or, how newt and thomas finally 'fessed up their feelings for each other, totl-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thank god for tracheal inflammation, right?

**Author's Note:**

> so i actually wrote this before i started writing totl so some things don't quite align with canon (like alby being at their school etc) but it's mostly correct in that sense. this will be the first in a random series of unrelated one shots in the totl verse.  
> anyway i hate this its so dumb n cute?? bb ye gotta go

Thomas wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that made him want to be a runner. It wasn’t something he could really put his finger on. It didn’t really make sense, but somehow, deep down, he just knew he wanted to be a runner. Had to be a runner. 

Minho was a runner. His dad, when he was alive, was a runner. His mom was a runner. Thomas was pretty sure that his cousins were runners, too. It wasn’t that, Thomas was almost certain. Minho had been running ever since Thomas had known him, and it had always just been a thing. Minho runs, yeah. No big deal. It was only recently, in the past couple of weeks, that Thomas had this weird feeling about wanting to run. So it wasn’t Minho.

It wasn’t the glory of the track team, either, though that would be a nice bonus. Thomas had never really cared for the whole “being on a sports team so that girls think I’m cool ‘cause I have a uniform and I’m athletic and all that” thing. It was cool, but not really his deal. Or at least he hadn’t thought it was, but when Newt mentioned Minho had convinced him to try out for the team that year, something piqued his interest.

It was a terrible idea, really. Thomas had never been that athletic, asides from a short stint in a weeklong archery summer camp (it didn’t end well). And he sure as hell had never done any kind of running besides the mandatory mile in gym class. So, exactly why Thomas was standing on the field behind the school with the rest of the freshman tryouts, stretching, nobody was quite sure.

“Hey,” Thomas said, grunting as he reached for his toes unsuccessfully. “Do you know where Minho is?”

The girl Thomas was talking to, Harriet, swung her arm widely, pointing to the nearby track. “Over with Ben and coach helping set up.” she said.

Thomas blinked, trying to find his friend’s figure. “What? How’d he get in with coach already? That shank, didn’t even tell me.”

“Thomas, Minho’s entire family runs. And all his cousins went to this school, coach is probably like a family friend to him already.”

“Oh.” Thomas said dumbly, surprised he hadn’t made the connection himself.

Harriet snorted. “Probably calls him Bobby, too.” Thomas joined in on the giggling, giving up on stretching and deciding instead to pick at the grass. After their short-lived laughter died down, Harriet spoke again. “Hey, where’s Newt? I thought I heard him say he was going out for the team, too.”

At the mention of Newt’s name, Thomas felt his stomach do an annoying backflip. That was another weird thing that had been bothering him for the past few weeks - well, months, but Thomas would never admit that to anyone. It was happening a lot, and frankly it was really annoying. Seeing his best friend in the world didn’t used to feel like there was an entire butterfly observatory inside him. It was confusing, and along with the tightness in his throat and heat in his cheeks - and, uhm, _other_ places - it was all quite the bother. A bother that Thomas did not want to deal with and promptly ignored every time it bothered him. Which was a lot.

He shrugged in a way that he hoped was casual. “I don’t know,” he said, letting his eyes scan the fields lazily. “I don’t know exactly where he is and what he’s doing all the time.” This was very untrue. At that moment, Newt was probably over by the pit where the fielders warmed up, because he did high jump as well as long distance. The only track tryouts for today were short distances.

“Oh, come on, you two are practically the same person. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of you without the other.” Harriet said, raising an eyebrow while tilting her head slightly.

Thomas exhaled a sound of dismissal. “That,” he said, nonchalantly turning around to look at the pit, “is not true.” His eyes found Newt’s thin frame, standing on one leg and stretching the other. Thomas felt a smile creeping it’s way onto his lips and he tried halfheartedly to make it go away, picking at some grass absentmindedly.

Harriet rolled her eyes, glancing over to the pit where Thomas was just gazing ever so longingly. “Alright, _Tommy._ ”

Thomas’s head snapped back to Harriet, his face a mixture of surprise, confusion, and disgust. His mouth opened to protest but no words came out. Harriet didn’t say anything rude, or mean, but it felt wrong.

Harriet smiled, and a whistle blew. Thomas snapped out of his confusion, looking over to the track where the sound came from. Minho was waving him over. Thomas got up, shaking his head at Harriet as he began to walk, then jog over to Minho. Harriet smirked. “Bye, Thomas.”

 

An hour later and tryouts were still going on. Their school, apparently, had a very well-known and highly praised track team. That, for some godawful reason, had to mean that tryouts were long, intense, and full of a lot of crap that Thomas didn’t understand. 

Some of it, though, was pretty cool. A lot of the members from older grades were there to help out the younger kids like Thomas. Even though they called all the freshmen - except for Minho, that shank - greenies. Thomas didn’t really get it but he appreciated their help anyways.

There was a lot of hard drills, and as the end of the first hour approached he felt like his lungs were on fire. He was doing suicides - a really fitting name, Thomas noted as he suffered - and ready to collapse. He probably would’ve, too, if he hadn’t known that the field tryouts had ended around ten minutes before and the majority of the fielders had decided to stay and watch the runners. Also, Ben screaming at him not to give up was a factor as well. Dying in front of a senior member of the team would be beyond humiliating.

After six consecutive minutes of suicide runs, the coach blew his whistle for the runners to stop. High fives were given, water bottles were thrown, and sweat was wiped from pimply, pubescent foreheads. Thomas winced his way over to Minho, panting.

“Whaddya think so far?” Minho asked, smiling wide. He appeared to be unaffected by the torture he’d just endured moments prior. “Live up to the dream?”

Thomas half-laughed, half-wheezed. “Yeah,” he said, unable to think or get out anything more elaborate than that. He was taking a drink from his water bottle when the coach blew his whistle again. 

“Alright, people, get ready for heats.” he said, checking off something on his clipboard.

“Yes!” Minho cheered quietly.

Thomas looked around. “Heats?” he said to himself. “What the hell are heats?”

A deep laugh came from behind him. “It’s a race.” Ben said, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. Apparently he’d decided that Thomas would be his pet project. Or hopeless charity case, whatever.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “More running?” he asked, wishing he could take the words back as soon as he saw the look on Ben’s face. “I mean, uh-”

“Don’t worry, kid. After heats the tryout’s done.” he said.

Thomas nodded. “Okay.” he said, already trying to prepare himself mentally for moving his legs again. Ben wandered off towards Minho, who was talking to a few other seniors. The coach blew his whistle again and Thomas looked up. The bleachers, and more specifically, Newt, were right in his line of sight. The blond shot him a quick thumbs up and Thomas’s heart felt like he was running again.

A loud voice tore Thomas’s attention away from Newt. “Let’s go, greenies! Line up!” It was another one of the seniors - Alby, Thomas thought - and he looked extraordinarily pissed. Thomas rushed himself over, as casually as possible, to the other runners.

Alby began to explain the heats. They would go in groups of four - normally it was eight, but coach wanted to see more of each runner - and run one hundred metres. Speed was the objective here. Then, he began to call out names. Thomas would be in the third group - heat - to go, while Minho was in the second.

 

Minho won his heat, by a lot. Nobody was surprised, and Thomas cheered along when the seniors celebrated his win. Most of the time, whoever won the heat was almost guaranteed a spot on the team.

Within a few measly minutes, it was Thomas’s group’s turn to go. On the ground in his starting position he dared to glance over to the bleachers. Newt was still there, watching him intently. Then the whistle blew. Thomas went off like a bullet, sprinting down the track like nobody’s business. His muscles were screaming and his lungs felt like they were exploding but he kept going, like a machine. The other runners weren’t even there, it was just Thomas and the gravel flying under his feet. And it was great. For about fifteen seconds.

Once he’d crossed the orange pylon marking the end of one hundred metres, Thomas started to slow down. He looked around him and saw two runners behind him and one just ahead. Not too bad, for a newbie. Greenie. Whatever. Thomas turned around completely and saw Minho cheering for him, along with Ben and a few of the nicer seniors. He glanced over and saw Newt cheering as well, smile wide and absolutely beautiful. Thomas let the happiness of the moment wash over him, pumping his fist in the air. The kid that came first gave him a weird side glance but Thomas didn’t care. He started to jog back over to where Minho and the coach stood, but on his third step his breath caught in his throat.

He stopped where he was, trying to cough, but he couldn’t. His throat felt like it had closed completely, with no space for any air to get through. He managed one thin, rasping breath and pushed on his throat with one hand. He blinked hard, seeing black spots slowly swim into the corners of his vision. He saw Minho and the coach running over, concern and panic painting their faces. Panic started to take over Thomas, too, eyes open wide and scared. He opened his mouth wide, willing the air to go into his lungs. At some point he had fallen down because now he felt little blades of grass tickling his nostrils. There was yelling, loud yelling, from voices he recognized but their words didn’t reach his ears. His entire chest was in flames and his vision was mostly black. The last thing he remembered seeing before blacking out entirely was a figure getting up from the bleachers and running towards him.

 

When Thomas woke up, he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He inhaled deeply, then sat straight up. “I can breathe!” he yelled, laughing. 

“Very good, Thomas.” an unfamiliar voice grabbed Thomas’s attention. It was a woman in a white lab coat.

Thomas frowned suddenly, looking around the room. “Am I in a _hospital_?” he asked, nearly yelling the last word. Upon further inspection, it appeared he was. “Shit.” he said under his breath.

The woman - a doctor, presumably - laughed, writing something down in the chart she was holding. “Yes, you are. You had what appeared to be an asthma attack at school and passed out.”

“Asthma?” Thomas asked, stopping to stare at the doctor. “I have asthma?” Thomas did not have asthma. His little brother had asthma. _Zart_ had asthma. Thomas, he, did not have asthma.

“It seems you do.” the doctor said, closing the chart and looking up at Thomas with a soft smile.

“Shit.” Thomas repeated, realizing what this meant. “Shit.” he said again. He had passed out. In front of everyone. Everyone. This was bad, this was really, really bad. Just as Thomas had begun going through the possible scenarios of his daily humiliations, there was his mother’s voice.

“Oh thank God, Thomas, you’re okay!” she said, making it from the doorway to his side in three long steps, wrapping her arms around him and kissing the top of his head.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“Thomas, you passed out at track and field tryouts.”

“Well, I have asthma, what can I tell you?”

“Well, they prescribed you an inhaler, we have to pick it up tonight.” she glanced down at her watch. “If we can get out in time.”

Thomas sat up a little straighter. “So I can go home?”

The doctor from before spoke up. “Once we take some vitals and make sure everything’s stable, you’re free to go.”

Thomas smiled, looking down at the gross hospital robe they’d put him in. “Alright, let’s get these vitals goin’, then!”

 

One hour and two different inhalers later, Thomas was home. His mom had sentenced him to bedrest for the rest of the night. Even though it was a Friday, Thomas was perfectly happy to mope for the remainder of the night. He didn’t dare to touch his phone. Just thinking of the dozens of messages he was probably receiving at that very moment was enough to make him want to smother himself with his pillow. He knew that anything Big and Embarrassing™ that happened to him now would stick with him through until the end of high school. Teenagers were really mean, and Thomas was not looking forward to another three years of being known as the kid that passed out because he ran. That’s not the kinda thing you wanna be remembered for. 

Thomas’s phone was sitting face down on his bedside table. Every buzz sent him further into the burrows of his bed. He was upset, clearly, about everyone knowing about him passing out and having asthma. But there was something else, something more specific, that was bothering him. Thomas was pretty sure he knew at least kind of what it was. The feeling in his stomach was similar enough. But this feeling was _bad._ It was the kind of feeling that told him that he did not want to see any human - but also one human in particular - for a very long time. So when Thomas heard his mom making her way upstairs, he groaned and retreated even deeper into his nest of blankets.

Thomas heard the door knob being turned and his door pushed open. He poked his head out of his nest, offended that his mom hadn’t knocked first.  “Hey-”

It was Newt. At the sight of the blond, tender concern painting his features into a soft, saddish expression, Thomas nearly threw up his hospital-issued sandwich. Thomas felt a mixture of shock, happiness, shame, and anger all at once. He said nothing and Newt hesitated in the doorway before jumping on Thomas’s bed, poking at him under the sheets.

“You’re bloody destined to be a runner, yeah?” he said, fingers emitting muffled giggles from under the sheets. “Yeah, Tommy?”

All the embarrassment Thomas felt before melted away. He poked his head from under the covers, hiding his smile under the edge of the duvet. “Come on man, I’ve had a rough day.” he said, giving his best puppydog eyes.

Newt rolled his eyes, struggling to hold back his own smile. “Alright, alright. Fine.” he said, crossing his legs and placing his hands neatly in his lap. “No more poking for asthma boy.” 

Thomas let his head fall back on his pillow hard. “Are they calling me that?” he asked, mild terror returning to his face. That earned a laugh out of Newt which Thomas was secretly proud of.

“No.” Newt said, watching some of the tension ease out of Thomas. “At least, not yet.” he added, smirking as Thomas smacked him with his beloved stuffed puppy. “Oh, come on now.” Newt laughed, trying to catch the animal in his hands as Thomas hit him with it. “We can’t hurt poor Goldie, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Thomas frowned, but complied, setting Goldie down upright to rest. He pulled the comforter up to his chin, no intention of leaving the comfort of his nest.

After a moment of silence, Newt spoke again. “You alright?” he said, staring into Thomas’s eyes with an intensity that made Thomas want to scream.

Thomas shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It was really scary. My throat still feels kinda funny.”

“Tracheal inflammation.” Newt said, eyes flitting down to his hands.

“What?”

Newt started playing with his fingers. “When you have an asthma attack, your trachea gets inflamed, and the airway is uh, smaller. So you can’t really breathe.”

Thomas stared up at Newt, amazed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! I talked to your mum before I came up here and she told me about it.” he said, rolling his eyes about four times.

“Yeah, yeah.” Thomas said absentmindedly, still looking up at Newt in awe. His stomach started to do flips again and he blinked. Newt laughed. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just- no, no, it’s nothing.” Newt said, shaking his head and staring at his hands again.

Thomas wiggled until he was sitting up. “Tell me!” he demanded, almost whining. Newt was picking at his fingernails now. “Come on. You can’t deny a dying man his final wish!”

Newt bit his lip. “A dying- really, Thomas?”

Thomas frowned, pushing his bottom lip out as far as it would go. “ _Newt_ ,” he said, dragging out the name into a childish whine. “What is it? Why won’t you tell me?”

Newt finally met Thomas’s gaze. “You really wanna know?” he asked. His face wore his usual mixture of snark and amusement, but he was picking away at his cuticles vigorously. Thomas nodded, and Newt brought his hand up to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail. Thomas grabbed at his hand in disgust and made a _go on_ noise. “Alright.” Newt said, sighing, then chuckling to himself once more. He shook his head and looked Thomas right in the eyes.

“I was thinking about how much I bloody want to kiss you right now, but then I started laughing ‘cause I realized you’d probably pass out again if I did.”

Thomas almost lost his breath completely for the second time that day. His mind went completely numb and all he could do was sit there staring at Newt with his mouth open.

“Ha, ha,” Newt said, eyes widening, “I said it. And you are not saying anything, so I’m just going to-”

“You could kiss me now.” The words flew out of Thomas’s mouth without his permission. But as soon as they were left his lips he knew they were true. He really, really wanted Newt to kiss him.

Newt’s eyes shot back to Thomas’s. He smiled - really smiled, one of the ones where his eyes crinkle up and he looks like the amount of Precious and Adorable radiating from him could power a city for an entire week. It was one of those rare, perfect smiles that was plastered on Newt’s face in that moment. “Thomas Green.” he said after an eternity, the name an exhale coming from his mouth. “You were in the hospital for passing out due to not breathing less than four hours ago.”

Thomas rolled his eyes but his smile didn’t falter.

“Now, I really like you, and I’d rather not put you in the hospital for the second time in one day. So I’m not gonna kiss you right now.”

“How about this?” Thomas asked, untangling one arm from his blanket cocoon and taking Newt’s hand in his.

“I think I’d like that.” Newt said, putting his fingers in the spaces in between Thomas’s.

 

A little while later, Thomas’s mom knocked on the door quietly and asked Newt if he wanted to stay the night, to which Newt replied that he would love to.

The next morning, Thomas got his kiss, as promised.

 

 


End file.
